Breathing Tubes for Life Support
by Ms. Mapleleaf
Summary: His brother would scold him, if he knew what stunts he was pulling outside of white walls, but with Feliciano laying in a hospital bed, there wasn't much stopping Lovino from dealing with that fact. It's not like his little brother would ever know anyway.


Breathing Tubes for Life Support

**Author:** me.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own any Hetalia names or characters. Countries belong to their respectful... er... location on the map.  
**Rating & Warnings:** PG-13/T; writing skills that have been in Alfred's closet for way too long.  
**Pairings: **main - Gilbert(Prussia)/Lovino(Romano), eventual Antonio(Spain)/Lovino(Romano). side – Toris(Lithuania)/Feliks(Poland), Ludwig(Germany)/Feliciano(Italy) (- side pairings subject to be added to obsessively)  
**Summary:** (AU) His brother would scold him, if he knew what stunts he was pulling outside of white walls, but with Feliciano laying in a hospital bed, there wasn't much stopping Lovino from dealing with that fact. It's not like his little brother would ever know anyway, unless that Spaniard in the other bed started talking.

I don't want to make this note long, so I'll just say that this is the first (regretfully short) chapter of what I hope to be a multi-chapter fic. I haven't written in years, and what I did write was generally fluff on steroids, so it would be extremely appreciated if you could leave me any and ALL feedback. Please and thank you. :)

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Lovino didn't even try to pay attention in class the day after the accident. He showed up for the regularity of it, how familiar it felt, and sat through the lectures from eight till five, but honestly couldn't tell you what had happened or what it was he was supposed to have learned. The long-chained locket around his neck stayed in his hand the whole time, the gold cross on the front rigorously abused with the pads of his fingers and it clicked open and closed like a mantra when Lovino slid his nail between the lock. It didn't swing open once in those hours; Lovino Vargas didn't want to see his brother's smiling face on the inside.

He didn't know how long he sat in his last class after it had already been dismissed, only jumped when the professor laid a hand on his shoulder and asked if he was alright. The lecture hall was clear, save him and the man beside him, and Lovino stared around in disbelief for a second before realizing he had been asked a question. Words had never been his strong suit, so he left without any, letting the door close in his teacher's face.

Outside, it was bright and cheerful, the sun only beginning to dip below the horizon line. The birds chirped, the air was fresh and clear, the gentle hum of others' conversations mingled around, and everything was so _damn wrong _that he had half a mind to rip the locket from around his neck and chuck it in some unknown direction. Maybe up a tree, or find a hill along the valley and just throw it away. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to lash out…

Instead, Lovino slipped a sleek phone out from his pocket and dialed a number that was painfully familiar to him, because in his mind he wished it wasn't. It rang twice before being received and Lovino barely gave the person on the other end time to answer before saying, "I'm at the campus. I want- … Come pick me up."

There was a pause at the other end, no response, yet Lovino knew that the other had heard and understood him because all there was between them was tense static. Not exactly silence, but the electric hum just barely heard telling him that the other was still there; they were still connected and the world was still moving. Moments, minutes, maybe hours later there was a brief sigh on the opposite end, sending a wave of disrupting static into Lovino's ear, and the other person assented.

"All right. East lot."

The conversation ended without so much as a good-bye. Lovino snapped his phone shut, turning and heading the opposite direction of his car. The farther he walked, he deeper the sun set, and he soon found himself alone at his destination. No more chirping birds or talking people; here, the air was still and silent, and Lovino felt that aloneness pushing in against him as he wandered the location.

He finally came to rest at the edge of the college's east parking lot, looking out at his surroundings with a dull sense of numbness. The pad of his thumb worried the cross of his locket again, with more persistence this time as his eyes watched the sheer cliff drop into the valley below – maybe a hundred feet down, maybe two. Lovino never was very good with distance, all he knew was that a fall this far would most likely kill him, if not fuck him up for good.

It was stupid, he thought as he pulled the chain off over his head, eyes now desperately seeing the wilderness at the bottom of the drop. His pulse quickened and his palms sweated for some stupid, stupid reason and before he realized what he was doing, he brought the fist clutching the locket up and behind his head.

He was poised and ready, muscles tense with some kind of unnamed fear, but before he could chuck the object as far as his measly strength would allow a ripping, tearing scream filled the air and a motorcycle slammed on its breaks just in time to stop directly next to him, the driver looking for a moment like he would be flung over the top by the sure velocity. The cyclist's helmet was black, covering his face entirely and giving off an eerily emotionless stare, but Lovino didn't need to see to know the rider's eyes were assessing his pose, the remaining chain that wouldn't fit in his fist dangling between his fingers, the little bit of red framing his honey eyes. One wouldn't need to know Lovino to know of the Italian's distress.

The motorcyclist didn't ask any questions, only flung an extra helmet at Lovino, saying, "Get on."

No taunting jabs were made when the brunet donned the headgear, no condescending remarks or smug comments as Lovino clamored on the back. He just wrapped his arms tight around the larger man's waist and rest his cheek against the leather clad back. When did this become familiar too, Lovino thought with anger, and his grip on the locket still in his hand tightened almost painfully.

"Where to?" the motorcyclist asked, revving the engine.

"I don't care. Just somewhere fast, Gilbert."


End file.
